


Dusty Boots and Saddle Sores

by eeyore9990



Series: Wild West Sterek [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Western, Bathing/Washing, Crossdressing Stiles Stilinski, M/M, Saloon Girl Stiles, Wild West AU, cowboy derek, old west au, where have all the women gone?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-15
Updated: 2014-08-15
Packaged: 2018-02-13 06:21:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2140413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eeyore9990/pseuds/eeyore9990
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I don't know how to summarize this fic, so here are the things you need to know:  Derek wears boots, rides a horse named Wolf, and <i>everyone</i> has a low, slow West Texas drawl.  </p><p>Isaac plays the piano and Boyd says "ain't."  </p><p>Stiles is a little shit.  So that part hasn't changed.</p><p>**</p><p>The Old West AU you didn't know you needed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dusty Boots and Saddle Sores

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Bashfyl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bashfyl/gifts).



> So, way back at the beginning of summer, Bashfyl asked for the following: 
> 
>  
> 
> _I dunno why but suddenly I need Texas Ranger/undercover outlaw!Derek with Saloon Girl!Stiles.. Just picture him all hot and dirty after a week in the saddle going into the bar through those double doors._
> 
>  
> 
> This is sorta like that... without the Texas Ranger/undercover outlaw aspect.
> 
> Also, because I mentioned this a few times while writing it, for my birthday on Tuesday, Qafmaniac made this:
>
>> [@Eeyore9990](https://twitter.com/Eeyore9990) Hey,it's still Aug 12 over there,right? So... [pic.twitter.com/orgaRzcwNy](http://t.co/orgaRzcwNy)
>> 
>> — Tita or Qaffy (@qafmaniac) [August 12, 2014](https://twitter.com/qafmaniac/statuses/499144312261984256)  
> 

"Whoa, Wolf," Derek muttered, sitting back in the saddle and pressing down with his heels. Wolf, his quarter horse, obeyed the command instantly, and with a nudge of Derek's knee turned toward the east, where a tiny town could be seen in the distance.

Feeling a bit more energized upon seeing signs of civilization, Derek found himself sitting up taller in the saddle. With the sun at his back, he and Wolf chased their lengthening shadows toward the tiny town with its rickety wooden structures. They rode into the town a handful of minutes later, and with the sky going pink and purple above them, it looked… like a little slice of heaven.

Taking note of the saloon, Derek turned toward the stables. When they reached the closed doors, Derek slid out of the saddle, landing on the ground with a wince as his ass and thighs protested the long hours he'd ridden that day. After knocking loudly on the doors, Derek heaved them open, leading Wolf inside and calling out for whomever might run the place.

A boy with floppy hair and a kind face poked his head out of a stall, then waved his hands around and said, "Hello, sorry, I have a mare in foal right now. D'you mind…?"

Derek grunted and shook his head, glancing over the stall doors to check for a clean, empty one. The second one on the right had fresh straw and a full pail of water, so Derek led Wolf into that one and immediately started taking off his tack and rubbing him down. After a few minutes of this, Wolf nickered and headbutted Derek's chest. Laughing softly, Derek gave him one last rub between his ears before going looking for some food.

"Oats and hay out back, help yourself," the same boy said, one hand stretched up inside the mare. The mare was breathing heavily, and from the look of things was currently having a contraction, if the way the boy was wincing was any indication. 

Moving quickly, Derek got Wolf a generous helping of oats and a few forkfuls of hay before he stopped back by the stall with the pregnant mare. "Need help?" he asked, stripping off his gloves and tucking them into the back of his belt.

The boy gently pulled his hand out of the mare, looking it over with a critical eye before he grinned up at Derek and said, "Nah. She's coming through like a champ and Deaton promised to stop by after he gets some dinner in case things take a turn. The foal's in a good position, so now it's just a waiting game." Squinting at Derek, he huffed a bit and added, "Besides which, you look like you're about to fall over. Go get some chow. I'm pretty sure Boyd's got a room available too. Have him get Stiles to help out with a bath if he hasn't gone home already."

"A bath in a stile?" Derek asked, then rolled his eyes and stalked off when the boy dissolved into laughter.

A shouted, "I'm Scott, by the way! Tell Boyd I sent you," followed Derek out of the stables. 

Night had fallen by the time Derek stepped back out into the dusty street, but lamps were lit in front of the major establishments: the Sheriff's office, the general store, the bank, and the saloon. Stepping through the swinging doors, Derek went immediately to the bar, where a big black man was scrubbing a cloth over the gleaming wooden top.

"Kitchen still open?" Derek asked, sliding onto a stool before turning and taking in the establishment. 

There were a handful of people seated at various tables, a poker game going on in the far corner, and over the top of all the chattering voices was the tinkling of a piano. The piano player was a lanky looking kid with a wild mop of golden curls atop his head, head tipped back as he laughed. The song hit a wild note before the kid corrected his finger placement, and the person he'd been laughing with looked up, caught Derek's eye, and went completely still.

It was another kid, about the same age as the piano player and the boy back at the stables. His eyes were a bright golden color in the reflected light of the lit lamps, and his skin was a splotchy red, whether from the heat in the barroom or his discussion with the piano player, Derek didn't know.

Turning back to the bartender, Derek raised an eyebrow as the man grunted and said, "Steak, beans, and biscuits. Want a drink?"

"Whiskey and water," Derek said, throwing a few coins on the bar to cover his drink and meal. 

The bartender's eyebrows went up in surprise before he scooped the money up and shoved it in his apron pocket. "Need a room?"

"Just for the night. Oh, Scott down at the stables told me to ask for a bath in a stile? What's that about?"

The bartender huffed out a laugh just as Derek felt someone step up beside him. Stiffening, he turned to see the boy who'd been talking to the piano player standing right beside him.

"Scotty told you to ask for a bath and _me_ , huh? There's a reason he's my best friend," the boy said, smirking as he blatantly dragged his gaze down Derek's body, lingering pointedly at his crotch before raising his eyes to Derek's again. "Hi there, cowboy. I'm Stiles. Apparently, I'll be serving you at your bath tonight."

" _Stiles_ ," the burly bartender's voice sounded a warning that the kid just shrugged off, eyes gleaming with humor and something else.

Derek blinked, picked up the short glass of whiskey the bartender set down before him, tossed it back, and studied the boy. _Stiles_. "Does your momma know you're out past dark?" He knew his voice was biting, gruff, but Stiles had thrown him for a damn loop, the way he was practically undressing Derek with his eyes.

"You'd have to find a priest to ask, and we're fresh out of religion here in Beacon Hills."

"Beacon Hills?" Derek asked, flicking his eyes toward the bartender before focusing on Stiles again, somehow feeling that he needed watching like a pissed off rattler needed watching.

"Our beautiful, bustling metropolis." Stiles waved a lazy hand around, lips still twisted up in a smirk. "So. You still interested in that bath?"

"We're in West Texas. There ain't so much as a bump in the land for hundreds of miles. Who…?"

Stiles laughed, a low, rolling sound that washed over Derek and made his guts cramp up. He swallowed hard and tried not to notice how pink and wet Stiles' mouth was. How the moles that dotted his cheek stood out against the pale skin like stars against a moonless sky.

"Don't get caught up in details, cowboy. Come on, up with you. You stink like the trail and baths are my new specialty." Stiles grabbed Derek under his arm, his grip strong and firm as he pulled Derek to his feet. 

Derek went easy, letting his body brush against Stiles' before he turned back to the bartender. "Which room?" he asked.

"Second one on the right. There ain't a lock, but no one'll bother you or yours. Not in Sheriff Stilinski's town. Here, take a bottle with you, and I'll have Isaac bring up your dinner in…?" the bartender trailed off, shooting a questioning look at _Stiles_ , of all people.

"Give us an hour. Any longer than that and he'll be dead to the world." Stiles smiled, slow and wicked.

Derek hadn't had enough whiskey for his head to be spinning like this, even after a long day in the saddle and no food to speak of. But he knew it wasn't alcohol making him dizzy; it was this mouthy little brat of a kid who didn't seem to know that strangers were often the enemy. "How much?" he asked, dragging his eyes from Stiles' and swinging back toward the bar, trying to regain his equilibrium.

"We'll square up in the morning." The bartender leaned forward, eyes flicking between Derek and Stiles and his voice came out low and menacing. "And if he says no, I expect you to back off."

Derek was opening his mouth to bite out a retort at that, when Stiles' voice surprised him into speechlessness. 

"Yeah, of course, Boyd. I'm not an idiot. But I'm not going to pass up the opportunity when it comes sashaying through the door, either."

"You forget I know you, Stiles. I don't want to drag your bloody carcass back to the Sheriff, hear?" Boyd pointed at Stiles with the glass in his hand, eyes narrowed. 

"Fine, I get it! No means no." 

Derek jerked around again to see Stiles rolling his eyes, his lips pursed in a tiny pout that… was making Derek's pants fit a little tighter than was respectable in public. Shaking his head, Derek started walking toward the stairs that lined the wall, forgetting for a moment that Stiles still had a grip on his arm. But it didn't matter, as Stiles was right with him. 

When they reached the stairs, Stiles waved a hand and gave Derek a shit-eating grin. "After you."

Grunting, Derek started up the stairs only to hear a loud, gusty sigh behind him. Brow furrowing, he half-turned to ask what the problem was only to see Stiles' eyes glued to his ass, teeth gnawing on his bottom lip as spots of color sat high on his cheeks. Derek snorted and continued to his room, pushing open the door and looking around. 

It wasn't the worst place he'd ever bunked down; in fact, for the size of the town, Boyd kept a nice room. There was a soft looking bed, a shelf for his gear, and enough floor space for a tub to be brought in and filled. Which… he turned to ask Stiles about the tub, only to have the boy push past him in the narrow hallway and duck into a room. 

Within seconds, Stiles was back, a large wooden tub hefted onto one shoulder. He paused in the hallway, lifted an eyebrow, and the corner of his mouth jerked up in a small grin. "You gonna let me pass, cowboy?"

Eyes caught on the stretch and pull of Stiles' chambray shirt over his wide shoulders, Derek flushed and stepped back. Wrangling his features into something closer to irritation than lust, Derek huffed. "Don't call me that. I have a name."

"Which you haven't seen fit to share with me, so that means I get to call you whatever comes to mind. Pa always said I had a real good imagination. Should I make up something else, sweet cheeks?" Stiles grunted as he lowered the tub to the floor before turning toward Derek, hands rising to rest on his hips.

"Derek. My name is Derek. Don't…" Derek waved his hand, indicating all of Stiles in that moment. 

Stiles tilted his head, studying Derek for a long moment before he slowly nodded. "Derek. I like it. Easy enough to remember when I'm screaming your name later."

Unable to believe his ears, Derek spluttered for a moment before he shook his head. "You're a forward little shit, aren't you?"

"Not as forward as I'm gonna be. Now," Stiles said, clapping his hands and stepping back. "I'm gonna go get the kitchen boy to bring in some water for your bath. It shouldn't take but a few minutes; Boyd keeps the water hot for us. Once the tub is full to your liking, strip down and climb in. I'll be back with soap and towels after I slip into something a little less comfortable."

"A little… what?" But Derek was talking to the backside of the door, frustration clawing its way through him. 

He felt like he'd been standing in the middle of a stampede since he walked into the saloon. Stiles had twisted him inside out and backwards until he couldn't tell which direction was up. It wasn't even that Derek was _that_ hard up for company. He'd just… never encountered anyone like Stiles before in his life. Someone so unapologetically forward. Who didn't seem to have any boundaries or any reins on his _mouth_.

And god, that mouth. Derek didn't know if he wanted to shove his cock into it to shut Stiles up or to see those pretty pink lips stretched wide around it. See it shiny and red and bruised. 

Derek groaned and scrubbed at his face with his hand. He was so shaken up, his fingers tangled in the buttons of his shirt as he tried to feed them through the buttonholes. Fucking ridiculous kid with sinful eyes and a wicked smile. With broad shoulders and strong hands that Derek just _knew_ would be sure and firm when they touched him. 

The kitchen boy banged into the room before Derek could embarrass himself, pouring two buckets of steaming water into the tub. A handful of blessedly Stiles-free minutes later, he was back with two more buckets, and the tub was already half-full. The boy mimed testing the water, so Derek knelt down and swished his fingers through it, hissing out a breath at the heat. Holding up his fingers, he let the boy see how red his skin had turned and the boy grunted before leaving again.

Dusting off the ass of his pants, Derek sat down on the bed and started yanking on his boots, successfully getting one off. He was working on the other when he heard the door open again. Looking up, he was about to call out to the kitchen boy when every thought fled his mind. 

It wasn't the kitchen boy; it was Stiles, but… Derek's lips parted as a breath rushed out of his lungs. Stiles had somehow changed clothes in the few minutes he'd been gone. Where before, he'd blended in with the patrons of the saloon in dark brown wool pants and a chambray shirt, now he… he… Derek blinked, mind gone fuzzy. 

Stiles was standing in the middle of the room when Derek could focus again, his long legs encased in black stockings that looked like some sort of silk. He was wearing a dress, or part of a dress. It was a shiny red, tight through the middle, with black lacings up the front that gave Stiles's body a gentle hourglass shape and hinted at a cleavage that didn't really exist. 

"What…?" Derek breathed, mouth dry and heart thundering in his chest.

Stiles' eyes gleamed, his lips — unfairly darkened with rouge — curved up in a knowing smile, and he smoothed his hands down his sides. "Do you like it? It's new. Just got it off the Wells Fargo wagon today. Boyd sent off for some girls, but they haven't arrived yet. So until they're here to pretty up the place," Stiles sighed and clicked his tongue against his teeth, gesturing at himself, "looks like I'm the closest thing to a saloon girl that's available. What do you think… _cowboy?_ "

Derek, however, was beyond words, could only sit on the bed and stare, open mouthed and breathless, as Stiles stalked closer to him, a heavy clacking sound drawing Derek's eyes down to his feet. Stiles was wearing heeled slippers, because of course he was. They made the lean muscles in Stiles' legs bunch up in interesting ways. His round little ass thrust out, though whether that was due to the shoes or the dress, Derek could only guess.

Stiles leaned down, reached around Derek for the pillow, and carelessly tossed it to the floor before sinking to his knees between Derek's splayed legs. "Don't want to get a run in my stockings. Let's get you out of these dirty clothes, hmmm?"

As Derek struggled to find his scattered wits, the door opened again for the kitchen boy, who finished filling the tub with one bucket of hot water and one of cold. He said something in an unfamiliar language to Stiles on the way out that had Stiles muffling a laugh against Derek's thigh. The resulting sensation would have had Derek hard enough to pound nails… if he hadn't already been so from the moment he laid eyes on Stiles in his fancy, naughty get up. So instead, he just sat there leaking into his trousers, hips stuttering toward Stiles when those long fingers tackled his belt. 

After dealing with Derek's belt, Stiles made short work of his remaining boot, sliding it off like he'd done this for hundreds of men before Derek — _saloon girl_... maybe he had. But Derek couldn't find it in himself to care. Stiles' fingers were nimble and quick, stripping Derek with an efficiency that could only be commended. Soon enough, Stiles was tugging Derek back to his feet, eyes raking over Derek's naked form and lingering hungrily on the thick, hard length of his cock. 

"First things first," Stiles muttered, visibly shaking himself. "You need a bath."

Derek felt the first vestiges of his control reasserting themselves at Stiles' hot, eager gaze. Rolling his shoulders back, Derek stared boldly at Stiles as he climbed into the tub and settled back against the edge, eyebrows raised in challenge. "You gonna scrub my back for me?"

Stiles adjusted the dress around his hips, drawing Derek's attention to the way it bulged out at his groin, before he plucked up the soap and a rag from the wash stand. "You're damn right, I am. But not before I scrub something else."

Derek let a low chuckle roll up from his chest, feeling feral as Stiles got close enough to grab. But Derek kept hold of himself, wrapping his hands around the edge of the tub instead. Stiles dropped the soap and cloth into the water before bending and picking up one of the water buckets. Setting it on it's end, Stiles used it as a seat, scooting it as close as he could to the tub before gingerly sitting on it, tugging up the hem of his skirt until the straps of the garter belt holding up his stockings showed in black lines down his thighs.

Derek's cock gave a hard enough throb that the water stirred and splashed in reaction.

When it appeared the bucket was going to hold him, Stiles' features smoothed out and he reached one hand into the tub, chasing the soap. His arm brushed Derek's thigh under the water in the process, and when Derek couldn't bite back a low, harsh gasp, Stiles looked up from under his lashes and smiled. He bit his bottom lip, slipped his hand between Derek's thighs, and let his fingers graze against Derek's balls where they hung heavy between his splayed legs. 

Curling his fingers around Derek's balls, he squeezed gently and murmured, "Oops. I don't think that's the soap." Derek let out a ragged breath and hissed Stiles' name in reply, only to have Stiles' hand disappear from his tender bits. Stiles held up his dripping hand, the look on his face triumphant as he held the lumpy bit of soap aloft. "Found it."

Squishing the soap against the wet cloth until it was dripping bubbles, Stiles set the cloth against Derek's chest and began rubbing it in large circles through Derek's chest hair, down over his ribs, and onto his belly. 

"Sit up," Stiles murmured, helping Derek with a strong hand at his back. Derek did as bidden, ignoring the water that sloshed from the tub in the process, and stacked his arms on his knees. He dropped his forehead against them as Stiles cleaned his back and shoulders, the cloth dipping down to tickle his ass under the water occasionally. Stiles gently washed one arm, then the other, before folding a towel over the lip of the tub and easing Derek back until his head was resting on the towel. Stiles tugged against Derek's knees until he raised his legs, bracing his feet against the other side of the tub so that Stiles could wash the length of each leg. 

When every bit of himself that could be reached outside of the tub was clean, Stiles urged Derek into a sitting position again, then fetched the pitcher from the wash stand. Dipping it into the water, he poured the warm water over Derek's head, wetting his hair. Then, those strong fingers worked the soap into his hair, firmly massaging his scalp until Derek was making low, rumbling noises with every breath.

"Either you're purring or snoring. I'm hoping you're just a big ol' kitty cat, to be honest," Stiles murmured, and Derek could hear the grin in his voice. "I'd hate for you to fall asleep before we get to the good part."

"Not asleep," Derek said, though he felt like he was most of the way there. Through slitted eyes, he watched the way the satin contours of the dress Stiles was wearing shifted with his movements. He wanted to reach out and touch, but he knew his wet hands would likely ruin the fabric, and for some reason, he couldn't stomach the idea of that.

"Hmmm. Good to know. All right, close your eyes. Gonna rinse your hair, then get the rest of you."

Derek didn't think to question that, just closed his eyes and tipped his head back. Stiles cupped a hand over his brow to shield his eyes from the soapy water, and just the feel of his bare hand on Derek's skin made him hum with a lazy sort of lust. As the water poured over his head, Derek let himself sink further and further into the peace and tranquility of the moment, fingers going lax against the sides of the tub. 

Something falling into his lap made him start, opening sleepy eyes to see Stiles smiling gently at him, their faces close enough that Derek could see the places where Stiles had sloppily run over the lines of his lips while painting them. Stiles' fingers reached toward Derek's face, and he was relaxed enough to let him. A thumb brushed his lips, ragged nails scratched through the overgrown stubble on his cheeks, and then Stiles was touching his wet eyelashes. "How are you real?" Stiles whispered, sounding awed.

Derek just blinked at him, having no idea how to answer that.

"Okay, enough of that," Stiles muttered, rolling his eyes. Pointing at Derek's lap, he said, "Put that in the bottom of the tub and kneel up on it. It'll save your knees."

Derek looked down and saw that the item that had landed in his lap earlier was the folded-over towel he'd been resting his head on. It was soaked through with water, so Derek did as instructed. When he was on his knees, hands braced against the edges of the tub, Stiles leaned forward, put his lips next to Derek's ear, and said, "Boyd was right. You can stop me any time you want to."

And then his soapy hands were on Derek, working over his half-hard length, sliding between the cheeks of his ass, caressing his balls. A grunt punched out of his lungs, and Derek curled forward, fingers squeezing the tub so tight he could hear the wood creaking. "Stiles," he moaned, only to feel a finger prodding at his backside. 

"God, you're beautiful like this," Stiles breathed, tongue licking up a droplet of water from Derek's shoulder as he pressed closer, getting his pretty little dress all water spotted. Derek thought about saying something, but those nimble fingers were squeezing and twisting up his cock, wringing nothing but harsh pants and groans from him, leaving him without the ability to use words at all.

Derek grabbed Stiles' wrist, stilling the motions of his hand, and turned his head, biting at Stiles' jaw. "Bed," he rasped. Then, " _Now._ "

Stiles scrambled to comply, nearly falling over as the heels of his shoes made him unsteady. Derek surged up from the tub, flinging water everywhere in his haste to join Stiles. He covered that long, lean body, getting Stiles all wet. Derek reached down, slid his hand up under the edge of Stiles' dress and further until he had a good strong grip on Stiles' hard cock. Stiles gasped into Derek's mouth, hips bucking up, a low whine crackling through the air.

"Been teasing me all night," Derek growled, biting at Stiles' lips, licking at the rouge until it was all gone, leaving Stiles' mouth bruised and wet in the flickering candlelight. "Eating me up with your eyes and twisting me apart with your words. Now it's my turn."

"God, yes, please," Stiles gasped, fingers digging into Derek's ass and pulling, using that hold to grind their groins together, trapping Derek's hand between their hips.

Derek moved his hands up, tugging the top of the dress down until Stiles' chest was bared to his gaze, the pale skin stretched tight over lean muscle, dotted with more moles that tracked across his skin. His nipples, though, were all plump and dark, pushing up toward Derek like they were begging for his mouth. So Derek obliged, biting and licking them until they resembled Stiles' mouth: bruised and sore-looking, so sensitive, Stiles' voice broke with every stroke of Derek's tongue.

Derek knew he wasn't going to last long. It had been a while since he'd had anyone's hands but his own on his body. Sitting up, he put his hand to Stiles' mouth until Stiles got the message and began licking his palm, getting it good and sloppy wet with spit. Bracing his knee on the bed, Derek took both their cocks in a firm grip and began working them together with his spit-slick hand, eyes feeling hot and burning as he watched Stiles twist and writhe on the bed beneath him, his pretty little dress all twisted up and ruined, garters snapped open and stockings drooping.

"Derek!" Stiles' fingers bit into his thighs, tugging and pulling mindlessly as his hips jerked, trying to chase his orgasm.

"Yeah. Come on, Stiles. Come on. Let go for me," Derek growled.

Stiles' eyes opened wide, their golden color nearly swallowed up in darkness as his mouth parted with a softly uttered, "Oh" just before his cock leapt in Derek's hand, pumping out come with every beat of his heart.

Watching Stiles fall apart beneath him triggered Derek's own climax and he curled over, stomach clenching tight as he stripped his cock, coming over his fist and onto Stiles' belly. As he lay there, body randomly twitching, Derek could feel the hazy numbness of exhaustion begin to descend on him. Until, that is, Stiles' fingers dug into his side, making him grunt and roll over.

"What?" he asked, a frown twisting his lips as the glow of good sex rapidly dissipated.

"Jimmy's going to bring your food up any minute," Stiles said, his voice sounding a bit croaky.

"Hnngh. Not hungry."

"Too bad," Stiles said, rolling up onto his elbow and poking Derek in the face until Derek captured his hand and bit his finger. "Ow, hey! No biting." And then, sounding speculative, he added, "Unless it's sexy biting. That wasn't sexy biting. Seriously, Derek, you need to eat. Eat first, then sleep. Or, eat, fuck, then sleep. We can totally do the fucking."

Derek rolled one eye open, just enough to glare at Stiles. "If you can even think of getting it up again right now, you're younger than I thought." A cold feeling washed over him before he opened both eyes and said, "How old _are_ you?" 

Stiles laughed, head tilted back and throat bared with it. "I'm nineteen, old man. What are you, forty?"

Derek just smothered Stiles with his pillow until Stiles slapped at his arm. Pulling the pillow back, he said, "I'm twenty four, idiot."

"So. Derek. Twenty four, cowboy, too beautiful to be real. What brings you to our little town, Derek?"

Staring down at the open, smiling expression on Stiles' face, Derek considered answering that question. Telling him about how he was hunting the family that had killed his, how he was looking for his little sister, a little sister he wasn't even sure was still alive. But a knock at the door stopped him, kept the words trapped behind his tongue as Derek pulled the blanket up over both of them and called for the boy to bring in his food.

Because Stiles wasn't really interested in some stranger on his way through town. Stiles was having his fun, playing saloon girl in Boyd's bar in Beacon Hills, Texas. When Derek rode out tomorrow, Stiles would just be a bright memory to warm him on cold nights, nothing more.

**

When Derek woke up the next morning, Stiles was gone. He struggled to push down the feeling of aching loneliness and rolled from the soft bed, sitting for a moment to collect himself before pulling on clean clothes and getting his gear together.

After a quick breakfast of biscuits and gravy, Derek paid his bill with Boyd, got some supplies at the general store, and then headed over to the stables to collect Wolf. Opening the doors, he felt his lips twitch in his first smile of the day when Wolf caught his scent and whinnied loudly at him. Going over to greet his horse, he heard voices coming from the stall where the mare had been the previous night, and let curiosity lead him there. 

Poking his head over the stall door, Derek opened his mouth to draw attention to himself, only to stop when he heard a familiar voice speaking softly. 

"Yeah, she's beautiful, Scotty. What're you gonna name her?" The hand that had moved so strong and sure over Derek's body the previous night — many times — was gently smoothing over the red-tinged coat of the newborn foal.

"Dunno yet," Scott answered, his voice equally soft. "I'll let you know when you get back, I guess."

"Where are you going?" Derek asked, the words out before he could call them back. He bit his lip, feeling guilt squirm through his belly at being caught eavesdropping when both Stiles and Scott jolted around, eyes wide.

"Uh, I'm… ah. Going down to Mexico," Stiles said, eyes darkening as he looked up at Derek from his position on the floor. 

Derek, who couldn't tear his gaze away from Stiles for love or money. 

"Which direction _you_ headed?" Scott asked, and though Derek would normally have no problem telling him it was none of his business, there was something about the boy's open friendliness that had Derek answering him truthfully.

"Mexico."

"Hey! That's great. You're both going to Mexico! Y'all should ride together." Scott's enthusiasm made his voice nearly squeak in his excitement, and Derek couldn't hold back a tiny grin at his expense.

Stiles, eyes never leaving Derek's, smiled warm and wicked before he said, "Yeah, Derek. We should ride together."

"You packed up?" Derek asked, lifting an eyebrow lazily, trying to convey with his expression he was hoping Stiles' gear included a ruined little scrap of red and black lace. Maybe some stockings and a garter belt.

"Yep. Jeep's all ready to go."

Derek wrinkled his nose, backing away from the stall as Stiles and Scott stood up and made to leave. "You named your horse 'Jeep'?"

"You got a problem with that?" Stiles asked, elbowing Scott, who wasn't even trying to hold back his laughter.

"It's a stupid name."

"Is this where I point out that your horse is not, in fact, a wolf?" As Stiles stepped out of the mare's stall, the light glinted off something on his chest. 

It was a star, battered enough that the gold looked brassy and the words were almost obscured. But the emblem was instantly recognizable, and set Derek's heart thundering in his chest with too many emotions to catalog. Mainly, of course, surprise.

"You're… a deputy?"

Stiles' head came up swiftly, cheeks turning splotchy red. "Yeah, well, in Beacon Hills there's not much call for a full-time saloon girl. Especially with the new girls coming in to town."

"Saloon girl?" Scott asked, looking between them curiously.

"Well. That's… So you're going to Mexico as a lawman?"

"Yeah, we've been tracking a couple that came through a town just south of here a while back posing as father and daughter. Killed a few folks, left a couple others for dead. Got a lead on 'em down south of Laredo."

Derek's spine stiffened and he asked, his body feeling strung taut, pulled thin, "What were their names?"

"They were going by the name Argent."

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, I know, this totally looks like it's going to bloom into a series, ~~but I gotta tell you, I have only vague ideas of where to go from here. I mean, I could write a hundred "camping out under the stars sharing body heat at night while fucking each other senseless next to the campfire" fics, but I'm a bit stumped for actual plot. So. *shrugs*~~ HAHA! Thanks to basically the first ten commenters, I have a pretty good handle on how to continue this, so. *deep breath* 
> 
> Fair warning: I have a rare pair fest fic to write and Fragile Heart to finish also, so there might be a delay in getting to this.
> 
> **Headcanon!!**
> 
> In case you were wondering, Sheriff is the Sheriff, Deaton's the blacksmith (I thought about making him the owner of the stables, but Scott was like, "noooo, let me play with the horsies!" so....), Boyd's the saloon owner of course, Melissa McCall is the last woman left in town after a terrible bout of cholera killed off a lot of the womenfolk and children (seriously, this was always the case in my head, I dunno why), and uh. Yeah. Lydia is the governor's daughter, Peter is off being a card cheat somewhere, and Malia, Erica, and Kira are the girls coming in to work the saloon that Boyd sent for. Because why the fuck not.


End file.
